


love kills, scars you from the start

by midorijpg



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Slice of Life, Smoking, Swearing, freddy being soft, larry being a needy clingy bitch, literally a chaotic twink, toxic non-toxic relationship???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midorijpg/pseuds/midorijpg
Summary: Larry didn’t want to go back into that cramped ass apartment because he knew it would mean to leave their small private dimension behind, the one that he and Freddy created just for themselves, where the both of them could just lazily be themselves and could enjoy the other’s presence without anybody bothering the shit out of them.





	love kills, scars you from the start

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from Freddie Mercury's "Love Kills", one of my favourite songs. I just blurted this out, because Reservoir Dogs basically changed my life, bye <3

Closing the small apartment’s door, Larry lit up a cigarette. He needed a breath of fresh air and he had taken the opportunity to let Freddy sleep in, going out to grab a stack of beers for that evening. He was basically living there, in that cramped, shitty place – it was always better than nothing at all, mostly due to his delightful company. He had even left a note for him, just in case he’d wake up earlier than expected.

Larry had always thought he wasn’t the sappy type, thinking that he wasn’t made to be the wholesome, caring husband that kisses his wife the moment he’s finally home from work. Well, technically he wasn’t exactly doing _that_ right now either. But Freddy... he was a completely different story.

Each time he found himself even just next to that boy he just wanted to hold him close, protectively, writhing at the only thought that any other motherfucker could have laid a hand on him too. He always felt the need to touch him constantly, either with a hand on his knee whilst they were driving together or with an arm around his shoulders when they were meeting up with the rest of the group. And Freddy was always there, ready to be touched and reclaimed, to wallow in those open arms that were equally glad to welcome him, quiet and observant as he listened to the others talk.

He was the least experienced, and he always applied the unspoken rule of “letting the _adults_ speak first”, especially because he was the youngest in that cage of beasts that Joe had racked up together. Larry didn’t even fucking know whether to be grateful to him or shoot a bullet right to his head.

As he bought the beers from the 7-Eleven down the road, the old man felt almost uneasy in coming back home, maybe because he knew that when he came back Freddy would be awake and they would have to go to Joe’s for their weekly meet-up, forced to chant every possible update on the situation, the zone, the cops, the guns, not to mention the usual revision of the heist, which they had repeated themselves every time they hung out together in Larry’s car. It was always just the two of them. Larry had even wondered if they could just sneak up with the diamonds and run away to Mexico City, without even packing up first. Fuck all the rest.

Larry didn’t want to go back into that cramped ass apartment because he knew it would mean to leave their small private dimension behind, the one that he and Freddy created just for themselves, where the both of them could just lazily be themselves and could enjoy the other’s presence without anybody bothering the shit out of them. He had already gone through his personal period of self-doubt, before finally reaching the stage of resignation – not without an inch of I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude – and also received the greatest insults, harsh and painful like punches in the guts.  

Him, the notorious Larry ‘Two Guns’ Dimmick, who slept with a boy that was twenty years younger than him and who knew that no woman ever could make him feel better than this. Not even Alabama, as much as it had lasted.

Larry took a long breath before he got in, trying not to think about the painful weight on his stomach that he felt each time his mind went to Joe, the heist and the other motherfuckers that just gripped on his shoulders to stay up. _Nasty sons of bitches_. He was supposed to be like that too, a completely heartless fucker. But even if he hated to admit that to himself, Freddy had fallen into his arms and given him life again.

– Honey, I’m home. – he announced, half joking and half silently wanting to try and see how it actually feels to say such a domestic sentence, so bloody daily and _normal_.

– Larry? –

The man saw Freddy’s messy blonde head sticking out of the bathroom door, still dripping from the shower, with that giant ass nose that created a shadow on the wall next to him. He was awake, fresh, and fragrant, his green eyes twinkling with joy – oh did Larry go crazy for them. He had never met anybody that could be so genuinely happy to see him, every goddamn time.

– Kiddo, you’re making a fucking puddle on the floor. – he warned him with an amused laugh, crossing his arms.

– Oh, right. – Freddy answered, as if he had just noticed he was still completely drenched. Larry approached him before he could disappear back into the bathroom and just pinched that big ol’ hooter between his fingers, doing it on purpose because he knew it annoyed him. He was in love even with the protesting groan the boy made, catching his lips in a light kiss. He must have shaved, Larry wondered, because his skin felt as soft and delicate as a child’s did.

– Asshole. – the boy grumbled, blushing up to his ears, just pretending to be grumpy.

– You better dry yourself up, or you’ll catch a cold. –

The man let him hop off back to the bathroom, sighing as he put the beers in the fridge. He noticed that on the counters were two cups of (instant) coffee, one of which was empty already, whilst the other one was covered with a small (plastic) plate to keep it warm. _Smooth little motherfucker_.

It was the small things like this that made Larry feel right at home, after a whole life of hit and run without even a moment of peace. Right in that tiny ass apartment, in that small universe, it was just the two of them, living for each other, exchanging bodies and breaths.

The man was just about to gulp down his cup of coffee, when he heard Freddy call him from the bathroom. He was in front of the mirror over the sink, with a lit up cigarette between his lips, wearing one of those stupid ass white tank tops that Larry used to wear all the time, promptly tucked into his jeans as it fit him too large. That little bastard nearly risked to kill him with every goddamn gesture.

– What? – Larry asked, with a hint of unwanted fondness in his voice. Freddy was almost as tall as him, but he was younger, more athletic and whippy – despite Larry being still well built-up and muscular.

– Give me a hand? – he mumbled, pointing to a can of hair grease on the mirror counter with a nod of his head. Larry just couldn’t do anything but smile at that, considering how used he was to greasing his own hair up now. Whilst observing him through the mirror, he thought that maybe the boy wanted to look like him, like a real cool guy.

As Freddy turned his head around and exposed his neck, Larry left a kiss on it in a random burst of affection, just because he could never get enough of him, causing the boy to snicker. Silently, he grabbed the cigarette hanging from his lips and took a drag, before resting it in the ashtray on the sink. He then caught a handful of grease and started rubbing it with his fingers to warm it up, before gently spreading it between his hands, never leaving the boy’s gaze into the mirror. He started to run his calloused fingers through that dirty blonde hair, pressing it back as he always did, trying to fix them as best as he could. He always wished he could just snap those horrible hair tufts off his head, since they were bouncing so much when they fucked, always drenched in sweat.

Freddy had now closed his eyes, letting a relaxed smile spread on his stupid angel face, as if he was just chilling at a spa. Again, Larry just wondered how lucky he had been to find someone that was so at ease with him, someone that always indulged in his touch for as fucking long as he could, as if Freddy had known him all of his life and had been aware that he would never hurt him. He was sure that Freddy was telling him that he loved him, that he would stay with him no matter what, just like that, shutting the external world out.

Trying to get back to reality and to focus on the boy in front of him, Larry reached out to grab his comb, adjusting his hair back so that it could be in order. Everything felt so goddamn perfect, and the only thought that this could be fucked up by a stupid ass heist for Joe’s filthy needs just drove him crazy, really, making his hands shake and his teeth grit. Never in his life had he wished this badly to be with someone, and he wouldn’t even give a fuck about the circumstances, because he deeply knew that Freddy felt good with him and they could have lived their lives in peace, not even a single shitty criminal plan.

– Larry? Everything okay, man? –

He had stopped. His hands were actually shaking now and he hadn’t even fucking realised it. In the mirror Freddy’s deep green, worried eyes were staring at him.

– Sorry, buddy boy. Every time it’s just... so fucking tough. – he weakly admitted, putting the comb back to its place and wetting his hands, before he took another long drag of his cigarette.

Freddy turned around in his arms, giving his back to the mirror. He was so close that when Larry blew out the smoke, he sent it right against the boy’s parted lips. His green eyes were flashing up and down, between the man’s own eyes and his mouth. He made him so weak that Larry thought he could ignite into self-destruction even with a single gaze.

– It’s just for today. – Freddy mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

Larry didn’t answer to that – he raised his hands and cupped the boy’s face, approaching him without kissing him, just resting his forehead against Freddy’s, closing his eyes and listening to his steady breath which intertwined so well with his own.

– If anything were to happen to you, I... – it was everything Larry managed to get out of his mouth. He was so fucking fragile that he was unable to finish the sentence. He would have shattered to pieces whoever dared to lay a hand on Freddy.

– Larry... –

The man opened his eyes and was flooded in a green ocean, shining even in the dim light of the room. He leant in again, now pressing his lips against the boy’s in a rush of passion and desperation. He pushed him against the sink, grabbing that skinny body with his hands, unconsciously terrified of letting him slip through his fingers. He wanted Freddy to have the red marks of his hands on his skin, he wanted him to show everybody that he was fucking _his_ and nobody could take him away from him. Over his fucking dead body, Larry thought.

The boy was kissing him back, and this was driving him even crazier, in addition to his little hands that were holding on his T-shirt for dear life, a needless attempt of keeping him close and stop him at the same time. _Stop, Larry, fucking stop_.

– Larry. –

And Larry stopped. He always did, he knew what Freddy’s limits were and he would have never gone further – he would have never hurt the most important person in the world for him. Freddy was panting, his cheeks deeply red as he tried to smile in a reassuring way, calming Larry down.

– It’s alright. It’s gonna be okay, you said it too. –

Larry nodded, now just caressing his lover’s back.

– It’s gonna be okay. –


End file.
